


if i bleed you'll be the last to know

by tigerlilycorinne



Series: AUgust 2020 Short Fic [14]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Again, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluffy hurt comfort I guess, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Draco, Insecurity, Just a lot of self-indugence, M/M, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, Soft Harry, Vampire AU, Vampire Draco, but not domestic, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:26:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25658929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigerlilycorinne/pseuds/tigerlilycorinne
Summary: Harry should've seen the signs, but when has he ever figured anything out before it came and slapped him in the face? He gets it now, all the clues he's failed to follow. But what he doesn't understand is why, exactly, Draco felt compelled to keep it a secret from Harry.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: AUgust 2020 Short Fic [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1856617
Comments: 6
Kudos: 189
Collections: AUgust 2020





	if i bleed you'll be the last to know

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Taylor Swift's "Cruel Summer" (I'm sensing a pattern. Are you?)

In hindsight, it should’ve been rather obvious. Harry is thinking now, with Draco staring up at him, trembling and looking _so_ _small_. Harry’s not sure why he didn’t notice it before. All the little clues that really only pointed one way, if you looked at them closely. 

See, Draco Malfoy had stuck himself to Harry’s side and refused to leave in Eighth Year, for reasons Harry couldn’t fathom, but whatever the reason, Draco sat at his table and partnered with him in class and didn’t fight back when Harry shoved him– just showed up the next day with the unhealed bruise and an apologetic smile. 

“What are you doing when you get out, do you think?” he asked one day, when Harry was studiously ignoring him. Draco, at that point, had apologised to a lot of people, but Harry didn’t owe Draco anything, and they both knew it.

But Harry said, “Aurors,” because it was just one word, and he didn’t have to think about it very much, and in any case, maybe then Draco would leave him alone. (He didn’t. He followed Harry right into Auror training.)

But the funny thing was– and here was the first clue– one day Draco dropped out of Auror training, for no reason that Harry could fathom. Just up and left, even though he was doing third-best, since Harry was at the top of the class and Draco got shat on a lot for being an Ex-Death Eater, which Draco took in stride. 

Harry still remembers that was the first time he looked at Draco with something akin to respect, after being followed around for a year plus. Because Draco didn’t hold his head high and tell them all the past was the past, get the fuck over it, the way he might have when they were in school. Instead, he listened to why they hated him and– with a trembling voice– admitted that this was valid. No one had to forgive him, he said, but no one was allowed to stop him from trying to be better.

And _he dropped out_. Why, Harry wasn’t sure. He couldn’t have known, then, anyway. Could he? Maybe he could’ve, because Two: Draco fled the scene whenever Harry was remotely hurt. Sure, yeah, he’d dropped out of Aurors, but that didn’t stop him, it seemed, from following Harry about more. 

It was normal, by then. Harry would find his favourite candies on his desk, or go to his favourite store and find Draco there, smiling. It wasn’t even weird anymore, just confusing. But when Harry got hurt, Draco would disappear for days, and come back when Harry was healed of it.

That, Harry remembers, is when he began to realize that when Draco was gone… well. When Draco was gone, Harry _missed_ him. Once, he got a huge slash down his side– he wasn’t a Trainee anymore, he was a Junior Auror, but with bigger cases, because Boy Who Lived and all, and Draco was gone a week. Harry missed the little gifts, the teasing, the relentless… fondness or whatever it was Draco was up to. Very much. 

So he wrote a letter. Just three little words. (Not _those_ three words.) _I miss you_.

And Draco had come back, only pale and skittish, afraid of Harry’s side, gentle when he shoved Harry’s shoulder playfully. 

“I’m not _that_ hurt,” Harry laughed, pulling up his shirt to show Draco the stitches, “really, it isn’t even bleeding anymore.”

Draco had gone white and said, “Put your shirt down, please,” in such a faint voice that Harry never showed him an injury again. Draco got squeamish, he thought.

He did take his shirt off, though, later, when he was in bed with Draco and very much healed up, nothing but a long white scar to go with all of his other white scars. 

Because Three: he fancied Draco very much, once Draco had made it clear he’d changed. (That wasn’t Three, this was–) So Harry kissed him, one day, because Draco wasn’t nearly as subtle as he thought he was.

And Draco was a bit surprised. He went up on his tiptoes and kissed back, very, very gently. (Okay, that wasn’t Three either, _this was–)_ Draco didn’t taste like apples, or cinnamon, or peppermint, or toothpaste, or sugar, or chocolate, or his favourite brand of tea. He tasted like blood.

And Four: Draco wouldn’t move in with him, even though Harry figured wasn’t that the next step? After following Harry around for what must’ve been– what three years now and dating for one of them– since Draco seemed very into being wherever Harry was, at all the times.

But okay, that was fine. Because Draco had been tossed out of the house somewhere in the summer after Eighth Year, when there was a big headline about Draco following Harry about. And so Draco had worked his arse off for his apartment, and in any case, Grimmauld was big and had the same sort of rooms and portraits and family trees as the Malfoy Manor did. The same sort of energy. An echo of what Draco was trying to leave behind.

But then, Five: Draco would sneak out at night. A lot.

Which brings them here.

“You’re not cheating on me,” Harry echoes. “You’re a vampire.”

Draco has curled himself into a ball on Harry’s bed, sitting with his knees pulled to his chest, his arms wrapped around his legs. He’s wearing Harry’s white sweater and nothing else, which draws a vivid contrast to the Gryffindor red sheets of Harry’s bed, the covers crumpled on the floor.

Harry sits down beside him, because where he’s standing feels too confrontational.

“I know it sounds kind of ridiculous,” Draco begins, his eyes red and his fingers tapping relentlessly against his leg. The lamplight catches on the tears welling in his eyes, and Harry pulls Draco’s warm body into him. Draco shoots him a look of mild astonishment and unwinds his limbs slowly, as if expecting Harry to let him go. “But I–”

“No,” Harry interrupts, having finished thinking. “I guess it was pretty obvious, huh.”

Draco makes a sound in the back of his throat, like a half-laugh, half-sob, both of them part-way hysterical. “Was it?” he asks in a high voice. “Why? Because I seem like the kind of person who drinks other people’s blood?”

“ _That’s_ a bit ridiculous,” Harry says, his heart tight and twisting in on itself. “I don’t think that of you, and I don’t think anyone who knows you now would think that. Not to mention it’s not really the sort of thought anyone has about anybody.”

“I’m not cheating on you,” Draco says again, as if he isn’t sure Harry heard him the first time. Harry doesn’t see how this is important anymore; Draco’s a _vampire_. And he didn’t even know. For a fucking long time, if Harry’s following the clues the right way. “You thought I was the kind of person who would cheat on you. Who am I to say you wouldn’t think–”

“I only thought that because that’s what it _looked_ like,” Harry protests, a guilty feeling weighing in his stomach. “What would _you_ think if we fucked and then I disappeared in the middle of the night and came back, like, a dozen times in a row? And otherwise refuse to sleep over?”

Draco lets out a shaky breath. “I… yeah. I just… I mean, what would _you_ do if the love of your life wanted to sleep with you and– well, you wouldn’t say no, would you?” 

Harry holds Draco even closer, pressing a kiss to his forehead. He’s warm and willing, pressing closer to Harry when Harry holds him. His blond hair is a mess, and it tickles Harry’s neck. _Love of your life?_ “No, but that’s beside the point. You just– I don’t understand why you didn’t _tell_ me, instead of sneaking out. How long have you…”

“Been a vampire?” Draco’s voice cracks on the last word. “I got bitten two days before I dropped out.”

“Ah.” It does make sense. “And you didn’t tell me because…”

Draco pulls away from him and looks at him, his hands twisting in the frayed edge of the quilt at the end of Harry’s bed. “Tell you that I’m a vampire.”

“Yes.”

“Harry–” Draco makes a frustrated sound. “I was a Death Eater, and I bullied you for seven years, and I hurt people and called people slurs and was such a self-serving piece of shit that it took me years to get where I am now with you.”

Why are they even having this discussion at two in the morning? The bloody window is still open, blowing cold air into the room and making the curtains flutter a bit. Harry already feels cold because Draco has pushed himself out of Harry’s arms and is looking at him like he’s waiting for Harry to have some sort of revelation. Well sorry to disappoint, but Harry isn’t following. He shuts the window– why was it even necessary for Draco to climb out the window? Sure, there are a lot of stairs and things until you get outside, but– oh but Kreacher. But okay, why was he sneaking anyway?

Harry shakes his head. “I still don’t understand why you didn’t tell me.”

“Oh for Merlin’s sake– because I didn’t want to give you another reason not to want me!”

“Oh.” Harry looks at Draco, harder this time. His trembling mouth and his arms hugging himself tightly, his long, bare legs curled into him and his top half drowning in Harry’s sweater, the first item of clothing Draco had snatched up from the floor when Harry rolled over and asked him where the hell he was going, _again_ , and did he really think Harry hadn’t noticed? And if he’d found someone else, he should come right out and say it. 

“Oh,” he says again. “That’s _really_ ridiculous. _Of course_ , I still want you. I love you a whole lot more than I dislike the idea of someone drinking blood.” 

Draco’s cheeks go pink, but Harry knows this isn’t over the moment Draco opens his mouth. Draco has a way of coming up with all the plausible problems with anything he wants and trying to convince himself it isn’t worth a go. It warms Harry’s heart whenever he thinks about it, because apparently, all things considered, _Harry_ was still worth a go.

“Yeah, but what if it’s _your_ blood?” There it is.

“Are you implying I should be afraid of you?” Harry looks at Draco consideringly, his slim frame in Harry’s big sweater. Draco can’t do wandless spells the way Harry can, and Draco never stops grumbling about it. Draco’s the little spoon and shorter, and his greatest strength is his sharp wit. “I think you could hurt me if you wanted,” Harry admits, “But I thought I was– what did you say?– ‘the love of your life.’”

“I can’t _control_ it. My– it just–” Draco gestures to his mouth. “–My fangs just come out.”

“But you can control yourself.” Harry shrugs. “I mean, your fangs come out, but you won’t drink me, right? I mean, not that I would mind.”

Draco stares at him, his voice high-pitched again. “Not that you would _mind_?”

Harry shrugs. “As long as you don’t kill me. If I was a vampire, I wouldn’t have any reason to leave _you_ for being a vampire– that would be hypocritical– and then you could stop worrying about it.”

Draco shakes his head, leaning towards Harry. Harry, recognising it as the invitation it is, pulls him close and lets Draco bury his face in Harry’s chest. Harry cards his fingers through Draco’s soft hair and kisses the top of his head, wondering how Draco could ever think Harry would leave him for _anything_.

“I’m not biting you,” Draco insists into Harry’s chest, the vibrations of his voice against Harry’s chest satisfyingly intimate and close.

“Alternatively, I could remind you how much I love you endlessly until you stop worrying about it.” Harry’s happy to. He’s already got a couple lined up: Draco’s relentless progress– he’s never stand-still, always chasing some goal, be it completing Auror Training, or getting secondary education, or convincing Harry to give him another chance; Draco’s determination to be better– to learn about Muggles and apologize to people who he owes an apology and correctly assess whether he really needs to be cruel in any given situation; Draco’s humour– his inside jokes and his endless teasing, his apparent lack of jokes at his own expense and his wealth of snide remarks about virtually everyone else–

“Salazar, please don’t,” Draco says into Harry’s chest, “I’d rather you not get all Hufflepuff on me.”

“Alright,” Harry concedes, because Draco’s ears are already red, “Just so long as you know nothing could ever make me leave you.”

Draco huffs a laugh into Harry and tips his head up, his eyes sparkling, this time with joy rather than tears. “I ought to cut your arm off and drink from it, and then we’ll see if you mean that.”

Harry cups his chin and kisses him solidly on the mouth, tugging his own sweater off of Draco and over his head when they part. Draco still tastes like blood. Harry still doesn’t mind. 

Harry himself has only got pyjama bottoms on and a thin T-shirt, and Draco’s wearing nothing at all. Harry finds this very ideal for kissing Draco in widely-varying places. “Couldn’t leave you then,” he says, kissing Draco’s stomach and smiling against his warm skin when Draco laughs helplessly. “That would just prove your point.”

He kisses Draco’s chest, right where he can feel Draco’s heartbeat, and looks up at Draco, who looks down on him with an expression not unlike reverence. 

“You’re such a bad decision-maker,” Draco murmurs dreamily. “And you’re aware of it too, you’re just too good.”

“Am _not_.”

Draco shakes his head pityingly. “You just can’t help it, can you?” 

“What, falling in love?” Harry says mercilessly, watching the flush crawl down Draco’s chest. “No, not any more than you can help your fangs.”

“Alright, that’s enough.” Draco stands, pushing Harry off his chest. “Since we’ve established I’m not biting you–”

“Actually, I’m not sure we did–”

Draco ignores this and retrieves a different sweater, one that’s Gryffindor red. Or blood red. “I’m going to go find something to drink.”

Harry sighs. “We were cuddling!” He tries to pout. Draco has always been the better pouter, though, and it tends to have the opposite effect when Harry tries– instead of inspiring pity for Harry’s situation, Draco seems to pity Harry’s pouting capabilities. 

Sure enough, Draco laughs. His laugh is bright and clear, only a little sharp, like a cloudless winter day with a cold bite to it. His cheeks are pink and his voice sheepish, but he says, “I suppose you can come, if you really want.” He makes it sound like it’s the last thing he imagines anyone could ever want.

Harry decides Draco has done enough following by now– after all, _Draco’s_ the one who got Harry and Draco together, so to speak.

So Harry’s the one who follows Draco out the window and into the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on tumblr @[tigerlilycorinne-drarry-me](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/tigerlilycorinne-drarry-me) or on my main @[tigerlilycorinne](https://tigerlilycorinne.tumblr.com/)


End file.
